Icarus
by Shahrezad1
Summary: There was only one man who could possibly help her. And the last time she’d checked, he was dead.
1. Point of View

**Icarus**

By Shahrezad1

Summary: _There was only one man who could possibly help her. And the last time she'd checked, he was dead._

Disclaimer: Roses are red, violets are blue, you've heard this disclaimer shtick too many times to count, so please don't sue. –bows-

Prologue: _**Point of View**_

"_Fear me, love me, do as I say, and I will be your _slave!_"_

_-Jareth, Goblin King. The Labyrinth._

I once read a book about a girl that fell in love with death.

It had been while on my post-graduation road-trip with Kari and a few other girls I only vaguely knew from high school. Kari and I had been the only drivers, switching off back and forth as each of our passengers nodded off one by one. Safe in the knowledge that we, as the responsible members of the trip, had everything in good hands.

Meanwhile, she and I did our best to stay awake by telling stories and listening to music quietly, until there finally came a time when our eyes could fight it no longer; our lids becoming permanent shutters over the windows to our souls. With nothing left to turn to, having exhausted our meager supply of entertainment, we resorted to a suggestion one of our passengers had made.

A book on tape.

The piece of fiction had been somewhat juvenile for our 'Oh, So Mature' Graduated minds, but the narrative had had a poignant quality to it, more than passing our expectations. As the girl went from outright denying any care for the dark lord of death, to being angry at him, and then finally on to a deep and abiding love for him.

Truthfully, as she told him tales it was as though she was telling her own, a mix between the Hades/Persephone myth and Shahrezad's long 1,000-night fight for survival. Each one revolving around the loneliness of the misunderstood, and the women who came to love them.

I suppose it was stories like that which got me into this mess in the first place.


	2. Life Worth Living

**Icarus**

By Shahrezad1

Summary: _There was only one man who could possibly help her. And the last time she'd checked, he was dead._

Disclaimer: Roses are red, violets are blue, you've heard this disclaimer shtick too many times to count, so please don't sue. –bows-

Chapter 1: _**Life Worth Living**_

"_Oh, he looks at me with those innocent eyes,_

_and says, 'It looks like you're wearing some kinda disguise._

_Your hair sticks up, your shoes are untied._

_I hope that you bought that shirt at half price.'"_

-_Pretend to Be Nice, Josie and Pussycats_

Staring down the full length of a four-story building, her hair snatched up by the steadily rising winds, Violet Parr, AKA _VyletHaze_, couldn't help but rethink her career options.

There was always teaching. The personality test in high school had said she would be good at teaching. Or running her own business, for that matter. But when the Career Advisor had told her she was working towards new heights in her personal goals, he probably hadn't been referring to her scaling some of the tallest buildings downtown, only to speculate jumping off of one of them.

And all because of that _blasted_ fanboy.

She supposed she only had herself to blame. But how was she to know that in saving one person's life, she would make her own a year-long babysitting catastrophe?

There had been a middle school fire, she remembered absently as she examined the distance between the building she was on and the ground below, trying to ignore the jitters that were shaking her form as logic finally reached her brain. _Jumping! Stupid! Dead!_ The words spiked through her mind with the kind of adrenaline surge that could only be brought on by extreme panic.

This was battled by meditative breaths and determined focus on something _else_. _The past, the past, anything but now_, as her mentor had once taught her. Anything to fight the body's fear of death. She was Super, not Civilian, and she needed to act smoothly, gracefully; without fear. Fear froze a person in their tracks; courage faced fear and stood its ground.

And so it was that, although the memory irritated her, she allowed her mind to drift backwards.

The fire had been accidental. A bunch of schoolboys playing with matches behind the tool shed, only to set it on fire in a burst of flames. What could have been easily put out became a raging inferno, however, as the flames spread to the school itself, and the occupants inside. Everyone had got out by the time she'd reached the crimes scene. Everyone but a single thirteen-year old boy who had fallen asleep in the library, surrounded by stacks of comic books and tomes written about genetic theories. She'd moved in without thought, knowing the building's layout from her own school experience, when she'd come for a debate tournament. And there she'd found him, dead to the world in sleep-deprived exhaustion.

The save had been an easy enough one. Grab the kid, put a bubble of oxygen around the two of them, and make for the exit. But he hadn't let her live it down ever since. It hadn't been more than two weeks after when he'd tried his first stunt, walking along the roof of his school in the effort to catch her attention. And when she'd arrived the boy, David John Pratt, met her worried gaze with a cheeky grin and a flower, asking her to be his date to the upcoming school dance.

In response, she'd dropped him as his mother's feet and stiffly asked her that he be grounded. Which he had been, in addition to a month's worth of detentions.

Here they were, a year later. He was still pulling stunts, she was still babysitting. He hadn't let up on asking her out, either. Even going so far as to name himself Violet's personal sidekick, therefore, expert on all things _VyletHaze_-related.

It was driving her insane.

Still, it wasn't like Violet could _not_ save him, irritation aside. He might actually end up getting hurt in one of his stunts. And not only would his mother never forgive her, but she could just imagine how that would go over with the press.

So it was that the dark-haired Super found herself standing high above rush-hour traffic, the boy himself nonchalantly reading a comic book as though he wasn't surrounded by a thousand shark-like cars, ducking and weaving around one another in a vicious effort to get ahead.

Several local cops, dressed smartly in their typical black and blue, watched the upcoming disaster with rising worry, yet still holding back from acting in any way. They'd run into Billy's schemes enough times over the past year to know that he wasn't easily swayed from a plan once it had been cemented into his mind.

The only recourse was to wait for the Superherself, for, as he had stated to the associated press in the past, _"They can arrest me all they want, but I'm not budging from this spot until I see _VyletHaze!_"_

Sometimes it made Violet wonder if she had ever been that immature at that age.

When her body had finally calmed enough to suppress the rage of fight or flight response, lost in its remembrance of the past, she began logically figuring out a solution to her dilemma. Billy had placed himself in an awkward position this time. There were no walkways to where he stood, on the line dividing two lanes, and if she used a shield barrier to stop the oncoming cars she would cause people to crash and disrupt traffic further. Invisibility was of no help whatsoever, and once she finally got to his side she still had to find a way to get them both back _out_ again.

Her only course was to do what her brother liked to call, a 'Bouncy Ball Ploy.' Basically, if all plans went well, it was set so that she could allow herself to free-fall from an overhanging building, creating a shield around her just before she hit the ground. The shield, finding an immovable force pushing back, would then send her back up, using inertia to force her up and in the opposite, angled direction (provided she aimed it right).

The trick this time revolved around Davey. If she was to be successful (and not dead), she would have to be able to make the shield small enough to fit in the island of space the boy had provided around himself, while also being big enough to cover him too, for the ride back. And Violet had to keep the shield open long enough that it would allow the child's DNA pattern into the shield, without squashing her thin form flat on the tarmac.

It was a delicate situation, to say the least.

Sending a prayer heavenward, the young woman tucked aside her fear and made the leap, knowing it was now or never. If she lived, she lived, and if something went wrong…well, her only placation was that, with the slight increased healing ability all Supers were privy to, she would at least live long enough to send a goodbye message to her family before heading off to the next world. Although that was small consolation to one that was forced to watch speeding cars come at their face at a billion miles an hour.

And when she collided with the self-named, 'Adventure Guy,' his comic flying from his hands to become the _only_ victim of car-induced rage, Violet couldn't help the relief that coursed through her body as they soared up and over the building, across from where she'd started. Her slim arms wrapped around the teenager form with a familiarity born of responsibility.

Down below, the anxiously idle cops had already begun dispersing, the situation suddenly neutral, as they were relieved from their own form of babysitting.

_Keeping an eye on Davey must be the regular Rookie Punishment_, dark-haired super mused darkly, humor battling sheer terror as she was flung into the air within her giant hamster ball, before finally releasing it to allow the two of them to fall to the rooftop.

Panting despite the only slight amount of physical action she'd exerted, Violet finally allowed the panic to shake through her. Hands twitching slightly as she fought the urge to tear off the mask that plagued her and throw it on the ground, stomping repeatedly. Of all days when she hated being a hero the most, this probably took the cake. May she NEVER have to do something like that again.

Straightening slowly, the slim woman calmly slid her hands into her hair, straightening ruffled strands and centering her headband more fully on her skull as she took stock of the location of each of her limbs.

It took just seconds for the boy she'd rescued, however, to react quite the opposite.

"Ah, _man!_ I can't believe you _did_ that! That was the newest edition of _RadiumGirl_--it took me _three weeks_ to save up for it!" the African-American teenager scowled irritably at Violet through bushy eyebrows, as though she hadn't just saved his life just seconds before.

Instead of irritation going through her, a feeling of déjà vu appeared instead, part of Violet's mind trying to figure out why the tone and the words seemed so familiar.

"Ugh! Man, this totally sucks!"

That was it. _Dash._ Why hadn't she recognize it sooner? Thanking heavens that he was in Hawaii right now, and currently out of her hair, the Superhero moved on as her shock was swiftly dealt with and diverted into a more constructive path.

"You shouldn't have been reading a comic book in the middle of a raging river of cars, in the first place. If it was _really_ that important to you, you would have left it at home, am I right?" mother mode switched on, and while she was dealing patiently with him now, she was just short of shaking her finger at the boy, brow furrowed and lips tight with exasperation. Then, without pause, things took on a sisterly aspect as petulance seeped into her voice, "Speaking of which, _you're welcome_. Glad to be of service. No need for any thanks," cocking her hip to the side and crossing her arms over her chest as a pointed end to the conversation, the brunette was glad her mask disguised the irritated twitch of her eyebrows.

"Hey, it's not _my_ fault you've been taking forever with your rescues lately," he retorted immediately, folding his own arms over his 'AG'-marked T-shirt in an unconscious echo of her own pose, "I wanted something to do while I waited, is that so wrong? And I thought this'd be an _easy_ one for you--it's not like I set the lions free in the zoo again!"

Slim fingers pinched the bridge above her nose, feeling a headache coming on, "Davey--."

"_Adventure Guy!_"

"Adventure Guy. My powers are purely defensive, remember? I can't stop time, or freeze moving objects. Or phase through solid blocks of mass," she ticked each of the individual powers off on her fingers, like points on a bulletin board. And to her they were informational: they were all powers of Supers long-passed, lost in wars and catastrophes and revenge. Proving that even with those abilities, they still hadn't been infallible, "What if I hadn't been able to get to you in time? What if I hadn't been able to get to you _at all_? And for heaven's sake, I was late because _The_ _Gondolier_ was up to no good again. And then I had to deal with _Cameo_--."

"--Samuel L. Jackson wannabe," the boy immediately muttered, diverted for a second in time as he frowned, "I swear he's up to no good. He only appears when you or _Gorgana_ are on the beat, but never _TsuNami_."

A discreet cough hid her blush, "anyway…you're still not thinking about the consequences. Davey, what if I _really_ hadn't been able to get to you in time. What would you have done then? Superhero work isn't all lights and special effects. People _can_ die, and villains like the ones I deal with every day won't treat you different just because you're a kid. They…"

Memories of the last time she'd had this conversation, years prior and situations reversed, suddenly killed all thought and expression. The Super fell silent and, expecting for her to finish her sentence, the boy was abruptly caught off guard. Silence hung between the two individuals like a line of laundry, full of words hanging out to dry. When the silence became too long, the sun setting as a backdrop to another day's responsibilities, the twenty-year old sighed and held out a single hand to the youth, digits uncovered by her fingerless armlets.

"C'mon, Davey. You're mom's expecting you at home."

They traveled back in silence, she carrying them invisibly within her globe of purple once they were near ground level. And the quiet allowed her to think. Think about just how much her life had changed in the span of a few short years.

At fourteen she'd been surly, antisocial, and borderline suicidal. The bearer of powers beyond her teenage understanding, and without the means to express herself. It had been nearly more than she could bear. But over the course of six months her world had turned. Supers were being accepted, she was able to use the abilities pushing from inside her, and she was suddenly accepted. By her family, and her peers, and most importantly, herself.

But with it came repercussions.

With the older generation being decimated by the revenge of one man, the new generation was feared for its instability, and inexperience. Parents were worried for themselves; for their children, and sudden responsibility came landing upon her shoulders with all the weight of Atlas' ordeal.

She was the 'Example.'

Just as her father had been the poster child for the previous generation, she'd immediately picked up the genetically-bestowed hype. Violet and Dash had immediately become the icon of the new Gen, and the representative of their peers.

And what was more, she was one of the few remaining Supers over the age of (then) fifteen. She could just remember the dimly lit room, filled with a smattering of powered prepubescent and their parents. In most cases, the child had either been alone, having come of their own volition and outside of the knowledge of their guardians, or with a single adult, their second parent having died in the post-'Golden Age.' She and her brother alone had come from a two-parent household.

And as Rick Dicker had walked in, he'd been plain about the truth of their situation.

The Supers were still out of favor with the public. The politicians were still worried about radical elements. Taxpayer dollars wouldn't be dolled out to cover their mistakes, nor erase problems as though they didn't happen. If they, children or no children, wanted the government to accept them into society, they were going to have to prove their worth. By minimizing damages, writing testimonials, and doing their utmost to keep their private lives out of the public eye.

In short, They were asking kids to be adults. And as each of them went their separate ways, eyes wide with the idea of training and separation from their parents, and normal school and home life for brief periods of time, Violet could feel their gazes upon her back. Each youth seeking reassurance from someone, anyone they could connect with, yet also the emotional maturity to balance out their new expectations.

Out of the whole group, there had only been two. Trisha Lakatos and herself.

The two girls had found themselves suddenly thrown together as the babysitters-slash-teachers aids. Which had eventually led to being thrown together in highschool, as well as on drills for their missions. Nowadays they switched off shifts as _VyletHaze_ and _Gorgana_ in Metroville's sister city, Municiberg, and during the daytime as roommates and peers at the local University. Never completely friends, but certainly not enemies. Equals; enough that their secret was easily spoken of; a responsibility that rotated between them.

Violet wondered what it would be like to actually become close enough to someone that she could not only comfortably talk about her powers, but joke about them too, the way her parents did. To see her abilities not as a job or routine, but as a challenge; an adventure. It was as though her life was standing on the edge of a precipice, waiting for something to nudge her off and send her careening into somewhere new and exciting.

And not the 'Dealing With Stupid Fanboys' type of exciting, either.

The kind of exciting that left you breathless and wanting for more. The kind of adventure that had created a bond of love between her parents that was more passionate than the hottest furnace. One of action and reaction, and instinctive trust between two people. Love, but with a spark to equal it.

Regrettably, it was doubtful that was likely to ever happen. The closest male Super was currently sixteen years old to her twenty, and her brother to boot. And relationships with Civilians never worked out.

_Like Tony_.

She shied away from that memory with the determination of a dying fish. Wanting to get away, to do something about its plight, but unable to do more than gasp for air.

Tony had been _wonderful_. She'd loved Tony, with his kindly smile and perfect hair. Until one day, when he'd suddenly been tentative in holding her hand; edgy as asked questions about her home life. His large, expressive eyes pointedly looking away as she'd lied about family gatherings that had forced her to miss yet another date. And then an epiphany had come.

He knew. And with that came the knowledge that she knew, he knew. And their entire relationship had crumbled within her fingers over the course of several weeks. Like building a summer cottage by the beach, only to realize that the contractors had created it on a foundation made of sand.

Every other relationship had followed the same pattern.

They all knew that there were things she was keeping from them, a side of herself that they would never see, that would remain forever untamed and deadly. It scared them, the knowledge of their own lack. Of the secrets she couldn't help but keep.

Her life as Violet Parr existed on a whole different plane of existence from her alter ego, _VyletHaze_. And people typically picked one or the other, but never both. Like Davey, they either saw the confident, classy, and vivacious Haze, or as Tony preferred, the intelligent, mildly sarcastic but genuinely friendly 'Every Girl.'

She was essentially competing against herself.

Sighing in the midst of her cocoon of purple, Violet allowed herself to turn from Davey's house, his mother watching after her protectively from the curtained window. Then, when she was free of observers, summoned her mode of transportation.

A car of Edna's creation, it was made to simulate a regular taxi cab, complete with holographic AI technology set to resemble E's favorite chauffer, a man name Nguyen.

The vehicle made traveling easy for the Super, especially when it came to evading vehicles, blending in with local environments, and standing in as a changing room, its windows tinting automatically with her needs. The automobile responded to five different queries: home, school, family, work, and 'freefall,' a device created to lock on to specific locations, much like a GPS, or to lock onto a crime scene, based on the movement of specific targets

It was the 'home' request that she used now, as a button darkened her view of the outside world. Then in the silence of her post-pseudo-rescue, Violet finally allowed the mask to fall. Figuratively and literally, her sense of calm passing a soothing hand over her form as she changed in the course of twenty minutes from Superhero to college student.

The hair was pulled messily up into a clip, hair-band removed. Skintight spandex synthiate of lavender and black made way for a casual quarter-sleeve blouse, and loose khaki pants flowed down her form with all of the serenity of water over rock. For the remainder of the ride she snuck in a bit of study time for her criminology class.

Then, right on time, the car came to a stop.

She pulled herself out with all the joy of one recently ran over multiple times, then watched as the taxi sped off to its hidden denizens; there to wait until another day in which she would require its services. Then, with a weariness born of work and the eventual exit of day to evening, she climbed up the three flights of stairs leading to her shared apartment.

A forced smile consoled her concerned superintendent, stifled the questions making way for silence. And past white lies filled in the blanks where her words didn't, with tales of a thankless job and constant schooling. Which were both true, in a way.

The government did pay her a small pension to live off of, for her time and effort dedicated to the American people, in addition to helping with half of her schooling expenses. And while her major wasn't physically taxing, it was safe to say that it was emotionally exhaustive.

So it was with some measure of normalcy that she reached the room. Only to find that she had no need, after all, for the sudden scrambling for keys or re-shifting of backpack and purse.

Someone had already opened the door for her.

In fact, they'd done more than open it for her. The knob was hanging off its base by a single screw, the remaining ones having fallen to the ground as the door swung open to reveal her home's interior.

Or at least, what had once _been_ her home.

Pottery and irreplaceable works of art littered the floor like corpses on a battlefield, shining colors made an array of bloody color across their carpet. And her beloved armchair and what was left of their worn little couch crouched like silent sentinels, sepulchers strewn with the scars of the dead. As though by stabbing into the faded fabric, the vandals could somehow extract secrets from the furniture's depths.

And on the table, a kitchen knife gouged straight between its eyes to mark it as the final casualty of war, lay one of her roommate's vibrant blue masks.

Something had gone terribly wrong.

~/~/~

AN: Hmm. Wow. For once I have nothing to say in the Author's notes. Perhaps only…please review. –nods- Even if it's three-word sentences ("I liked it." "It was good." "Nice storyline."). I know it seems like I'm asking a lot, but it means more to me than favorites or alerts. Because this way I can keep track of who's reading, and thus tailor what I'm writing to those fans, even to the point of sometimes including them in cameo appearances.

Plus, it makes it much easier to find out about other really awesome stories in other fans' 'galleries' (no matter the fandom), or through the works posted in their favorites. Thereby creating a broader community, one in which friendliness abounds instead of lonely anonymity. ^__^

And to my friends who only have DA or LJ accounts….-points dramatically at the screen- You _can_ post a comment without having a account! So even if you don't regularly gravitate around , let me know what you think. -smiles happily and nods-

Thank you! I love you all, as much as white chocolate candy bars and maniacal laughter. -nods and smiles-

(And thank my roommate, BlueCastle. She was my beta reader. -beams happily-)


	3. When Worst Came to Worst

**Icarus**

By Shahrezad1

Summary: _There was only one man who could possibly help her. And the last time she'd checked, he was dead._

Disclaimer: Watashi no Incredibles ja arimasen desu. Arigatou Gozaimasu. –respectful nod-

Chapter 2: _**When Worst Came To Worst**_

"_Time has changed me, _

_brought me to my knees._

_Taught me how to break free!_

_No more wasting precious life._

_Right now I've had enough,_

_I'm on the edge of breaking down._

_Time has come for me to choose,_

_there's nothing to lose._

_It's now or never!"_

-_Now or Never, Everlife_

Vi was tired. In no uncertain terms, and officially stated for all the world to see.

It was a "Zero Sum Game," as she'd heard it quoted before. Where even when you never lose, you also never seem to win. Evil never slept, villainy never ended, and bigotry had a permanent latch on humanity's soul.

It reminded her of an interview she'd seen of her father, from just before the Golden Age's fall, neatly summarizing the wave of feelings washing over her.

_"No matter how many times you save the world, it always manages to get back in jeopardy again. I feel like the maid; I just cleaned up this mess! Could we keep it clean for ... for ten minutes!"_

The wreckage before her was just another case in point. And as the Super stared into the mess with unseeing eyes, she couldn't help but find a reflection of her life within it.

Cracked glass and pottery shards crunched beneath her feet, buried deep within the carpet's depths, like miniscule cities left in Godzilla's wake. A broken city, a broken people that she was constantly being called to fix. But fighting the plague of crime was like piecing together the remains of her shattered coffee table; an impossible task.

Then there were the scattered and defaced photographs on the fireplace mantle; decimated remnants of what had been their collective homage to home, and a stand-in for her family, mended but apart. Although they were at a far better state than they had been years prior, time and the growth had slowly, inexorably, pulled them away. She with college and hero work, even as her brother finally took on missions of his own, at the age of sixteen.

She'd been painfully reminded of just how much she was missing of her two brothers' lives the last time she'd visited, on Jackson's eighth birthday. He'd already lost four baby teeth and had blown up his school gym once in their recent Science Fair; it was enough to put a melancholy edge to the destruction presented to her navy-blue eyes.

And lastly, there was the mask stapled to the table's edge called out in silent echo of her roommate and partner's disappearance. Part of her couldn't even look at the object directly, and as she had removed the kitchen knife from its flesh, it had been with shaking hands. Fear rushing up and down the highway networks that welded her nerves together, pulling her form wire-tight with anxiety.

Since that first moment Violet had tried to contact Trisha. Really, she had, multiple times. But all she'd been left with was a voicemail and empty hands, phone resting in wait for response on the kitchen table.

Contacting TsuNami had resulted in the same end, and Dash was nigh impossible to reach anyway. Her parents, she'd remembered just before pressing the last digit on her phone, were on vacation for their honeymoon, Jack staying with the Bests. The National Super Association's 24-hour hotline wasn't working for some reason, and Trisha's parents didn't know anything, as far as they were aware.

No one was answering.

And she was trapped facing the music on her own.

More than likely the offenders who had destroyed their home had probably been "Anti-Super Advocates", a group of hypocritical 'holier-than-thous,' dead set against Supers having any rights, much less legal defense. The ones who had wrecked the place were possibly even a few of the elitist snobs she dealt with regularly on the steps of the Courthouse and Police Department. Men and women with a fear so profound it had evolved into burning hatred.

The ASA claimed to act in the name of the common man, justifying every deed, regardless of whether it was legal or no, in the name of self-defense. Acts like destroying a Super's home, in the effort of scaring them out of town, sounded perfectly in character with instructions found in their annual handbook.

It was probable that Trisha had been followed home in the wake of one of her many ever-flashy rescues, and now they were paying the price through an irrational show of force.

But then there was _still_ Trisha's disappearance. The ASA were ruthless, but what purpose would they have in kidnapping a Super? Especially one that could freeze them with a single look? And as for the auburn-haired beauty herself, she wasn't one to ignore a phone call, especially when on the beat. Trisha/Gorgana been covering the seedier side of town, increasing Violet's worry tenfold.

It _could_ be circumstance, but the Parr girl had never believed in circumstance.

Making a move to start the futile process of cleaning, in an effort to keep her mind off the dreadful solitude if nothing else, a blessed sound broke the silence.

Her phone was ringing.

Giving her brother literal run for his money, the college student was up and across the room in a flash. However, the message that was pressed tightly to her ear made no sense that she was aware of.

_"Code S-Two-O-Four-Dash-Seven-E. Log three-O-seven, Earth standard time 1600 hours."_

The voice was unmistakably NSA Representative Rick Dicker's, however the tones had a metallic, almost hollow sound to them. And distinctly in the background she could almost make out a whirring sound, as though a computer monitor of some sort was running loudly.

Then a muffled voice asked a question, which remained unanswered by the Agent. A voice she recognized but couldn't clearly understand.

The older man continued in his static-filled, computerized tones_, "subject three-nine-five-dash-B. Topic-disposal. Secondary, stand by."_

"What?" staring at the cell's earpiece in dumfounded confusion, Violet Parr's ears distinctly picked up the exact moment the automated message came to an end. And with it when her last hope that her life would be returned to its former state.

Her roommate was missing at best, dead at worst. Her apartment had been systematically destroyed, and her unofficial 'boss' was leaving weird messages on her phone.

There was no hope for it--she'd have to go to work.

~/~/~

As a Political Science major, minoring in Law, and a Superhero to boot, Vi took her decisions very seriously. Which had made finding a part time job rather difficult for Violet Parr.

Firstly, she couldn't always work full shifts, due to emergencies cropping up. That had been learned in high school, the hard way. Secondly, it had to be something that would help her grow within her field, aiding the cause she had so fully embraced. Third, and most importantly, it had to be something in which if she did disappear for hours at a time, no one would note, nor care.

When her criminology teacher had suggested that she sign up for an internship, to familiarize herself with the field, a light switch had turned on. And a recommendation from that teacher himself had led to her placement at the Municiberg Police Department, as a lowly aid.

She was paid a pittance at best, and on her good days she was busy fetching coffee, whitening out spelling mistakes, and typing up sick officer's handwritten reports.

Being able to access the city's criminal records without suspicion made up for it, though. Additionally, the officers saw her as a good luck charm. Whenever Miss Parr was around cases seemed to be solved faster, tip-offs were more frequent, and evidence discovered, unearthed from beneath years of dust and disorganization.

And she, in turn, was able to access the NSA's data-files through the detective's computers.

So it was that Vi put on her second disguise in as many hours, pulling her hair sloppily back into a clip and perching fake glasses on her nose. A plain cream blouse, respectable but mousy, bleached her skin to a pasty white so that her eyes darkened to a bruising blue, circles deepened by the circle of shadow via her fake spectacles. And while her shoes and skirt were serviceable, the former were clunky and the latter could only be described as stark in color.

Glasses, a messy appearance, and homely clothing tended to afford itself to anonymity. An effect which was precisely what she was going for.

She caught the bus instead of taking her trademark taxi. _Violet Parr, the Student_, always took a taxi to school, to avoid being perpetually late, but _Miss Parr, the Intern_ was too poor for the fair, so always took a combination of bus and subway. So often that her coworkers remarked on it frequently, even offering rides to and from work, which she always politely turned down.

Miss Parr was always polite, always quiet, and never complained. No matter how much work she was given, or how dirty a job. However, she was prone to crying under pressure and teasing, leading many to wonder why she had even been recommended by the Criminology professor at the U.

Still, there were no complaints, even if there were some heads shaken in wonder at her naiveté.

It was to this environment that Violet arrived for work, late that evening. Her plain, unsoiled outfit, and quiet demeanor lending her an almost secretarial appearance in contrast to the dingy, gritty interior. A figure completely unnoticed, even to the point of being bumped into six times before clocking in; a record even by Vi's standards.

She could only imagine how they would react to her appearing in skintight Invisicloth and patented leather.

What followed was plain routine. Her bag and coat were deposited in the locked drawer of a beaten-up desk, followed by a slim notebook being removed and placed_ just so_ on the scratched and worn surface. Then when everything was to her satisfaction, the dark-haired girl made her daily rounds of emptying trash receptacles, throwing away Styrofoam cups, and tossing out old newspapers. The mess had built up ever so slightly more than usual, due to her absence recently, but it wasn't unmanageable. And the staff of the Police department ignored her with the easy familiarity of those accustomed to others picking up after them.

It wasn't until she'd nearly cleared away all the debris, the room once more looking rough and worn, but not beaten, that opportunity finally came her way.

"Hey! Intern! Whatsyerface, get ov'a here."

Adopting a suitably intimidated look, Vi made her way to the corpulent detective's side, head tucked behind glasses larger than her eyes.

"Yes Sir?"

He threw out a hand without really seeing her, the other occupied with sketching out an idea in nearly illegible chicken-scratch, "go get me the file on Maloney, will ya?"

"Yes Sir."

With deliberate calm, the Super made her way out of sight, and into the filing room. The secretary in charge of the precious documents looked up once to nod in recognition of her presence, but returned swiftly to the report she was typing up, accustomed to Violet's presence in the dusty room.

Then the real fun began.

Opening up the first few series of metal filing cabinets, the Undercover Super flicked through files like waves on the sea, each swish and flick a serene counterpart to her growing anxiety.

While she now had access to all the city's criminal files, Violet still didn't know what she was looking for. The vandals could possibly be any of the petty thieves and pseudo-villains that usually permeated the area, but that still didn't explain Gorgana's disappearance. What she really needed was access to the NSA's files.

And then there were Agent Dicker's words to think about.

"_Code S-Two-O-Four-Dash-Seven-E. Log three-O-seven, Earth standard time 1600 hours. Subject three-nine-five-dash-B. Topic-disposal. Secondary, stand by."_

What was _that_ all about?

Still struggling for complete understanding, dark eyes fell on the file she had been absently fingering. In her search for information, she'd absently done the task already asked for, hands pulling out Maloney's file without conscious thought. And just behind it alphabetically a familiar face stared at her through a smirking black and white photo, hair pale as the moon.

_Meredith Murphy. Alias _Mirage_. Thief and Con-man. See accomplices, B. Pine._

The last date was from over a decade previous, five years before the attempt on their lives.

Mirage.

It had been a long time since they had clashed heads; six years in fact. Since then Mirage defected sides to the NSA, become the public representative for the Association (replacing Dicker so that he was free to participate in cases), and had just gotten married a few weeks prior. She was still on her honeymoon, the last time she'd checked.

_The last time she'd checked…_

Violet frowned.

Yet another person otherwise unavailable to the young hero, currently occupied.

Shaking the thought away, the young woman closed the filing cabinet with a distinct snap, making her way back to her original destination. Namely to the burly cop that had called her over earlier in a fit of laziness, depositing the Maloney file with suitably visible trepidation.

Then with a demure excusal, the double-agent made her way to the ladies room to 'powder her nose.'

It was time for her to take advantage of a 'little bait and switch' ploy.

Out of sight from a majority of the staff, she picked up the dingy phone hanging from the concrete wall, its presence legally required so as to cover each criminal's single phone call. And batting long dark lashes at the line of malcontents that she had just cut into, the grumbling soon subsided as nudging and low chuckles replaced the irritation, her rear in plain view for their distracted pleasure. Then, once she knew their attention had moved on to more interesting things, Violet dialed a number she'd long-since memorized. Pointedly ignoring the discrete blush that came over her neck and ears as a wolf whistle was sent her way.

She might be accustomed to using her femininity for distraction purposes, but that didn't mean she had to like it.

"_This is the Municiberg Police Department. How may I help you?"_

One act was immediately dropped for another, and in a moment's notice Violet had switched her vocal tones from two octaves above her usual voice, to two octaves below. Then, with a smoker's heavy breathing, the Super spoke the magic words, "I needa tawk to Detective Bullock. I have summut fer him."

"_And who might I say is calling?"_ the receptionist responded carefully, accustomed to prank calls of all sorts. Luckily, Vi had an ace up her sleeve.

"It's about them Herons leavin' a mess on Carolina beach."

_Herons_. A new gang had been muscling in on the area using the code name of 'Heron' and was stirring up trouble. Bullock and others suspected that they would be shipping in ammunitions on one of the regular cargo ships that visited Municiberg's docks, but he wasn't sure as to which one. _Carolina_ was just one of the many; a name she'd picked at random after having seen his notes one day while cleaning up the portly officer's desk. Luckily, it did the ticket.

"_Right. Just one moment please,"_ the secretary placed her on hold quickly and professionally, doubt dispelled by the informant's innate knowledge of the case. Violet, however, had hung up as soon as the tone sounded, smoothing her blouse and skirt as she shimmied past the line of convicts and back into the police department's mess of desks.

Bullock was still reading from Maloney's file when the Intern arrived with a coffeepot and Styrofoam cup, borrowed from the officer's lounge.

"Hey! Thanks a bunch, sweat'eart. You're much better than the last Inter--."

"Bullock. There's a call for you," Mrs. Nora Fries interrupted, a pleasant woman with hair the color of sunlit frost. The college student recognized her voice from the phone almost immediately, although as the receptionist conveyed the information she paid Violet little attention, caught up momentarily.

"Can't you see I'm busy?! I just sat down and suddenly yer jumpin' down my throat like it's the end of--."

"They mentioned the Herons. I think you should take it," he was quickly interrupted. And in a flash the blank expression on his face had turned to glee, thick muscular legs making their way to the phone. With Mrs. Fries only a step behind him.

Leaving Violet alone, next to his computer.

Discreetly spilling some coffee on the man's desk and sprinkling the unused ten-key, so that she could have something to clean up as an explanation for sitting in his seat, Vi easily hacked into the man's computer, her powers rendering a slight electrical field over the computer tower that bypassed all security features with no more than a hiccup. Then accessing the internet, nimble fingers typed in the address for the _Nevada Swim Association_, clicking on the Swim's lowercase 'I,' three times until the NSA website glowed before her eyes, banner an angry 'top secret' red. To continue, she needed a code key, but that was old hat.

Typing in her login and password with complete confidence, Violet was dumfounded as a rejection pasted itself across the screen. Then, just in case the Super had typed something incorrectly, she tried again, with the same result.

_What was wrong with the system?!_ First the 24-hour hotline was down, then the database wouldn't let her in. What was next, her taxi locking her out of the car and flying away?

Frustrated, she went against all she'd been trained against and typed in Lucius Best's, a piece of information she'd overheard by accident.

In an instant she was in. The red switched swiftly from red to blue, and hiding a gape of astonishment, Vi made her way through the website with easy familiarity.

First came a search on Mirage. Her location was unknown, but the current status was posted as 'on leave.' Then, sighing, Violet typed in her roommate, Dicker's, her parents', and siblings' names. All were unchanged from the last time she had checked their status, a few days prior. Even the words the undercover agent had left on her phone came up with no results.

Nearly growling with frustration, the Intern set herself to log out when an idea struck her.

_Perhaps…_

_It couldn't be._

_Well…there was no harm in trying…_

Logging out with the efficiency of one accustomed to typing up reports, Violet once again returned to the original screen. Then began typing in what she remembered Dicker saying, piece by piece.

_Login: S204-7E. Password: 307._

An error screen immediately appeared, followed by the explanation that symbols of any sort weren't allowed, and the length was invalid--it had to be at least eight digits.

"_Code S-Two-O-Four-Dash-Seven-E. Log three-O-seven."_

S204-7E.

S204 _DASH _7E

It was cheesier than her parents' passwords of SuprGye007 and Str3chiWmn combined, but it just might work.

Abruptly and without warning, she was in Agent Richard Dicker's homepage, multiple files and links popping up in the side bar where none had ever appeared for her. Also, the inbox indicated that he had several new messages, all requiring different passwords. But what caught her eyes was the symbol in the lower left-hand corner.

The trash can icon, renamed "Disposal."

Within, a folder titled 395-B rested innocently within, but when she tried to click on it, the computer flashed disapprovingly, until she had typed in the equivalent of 1600 hours, 4:00 precisely, unlocking the file.

What appeared on the screen froze her to the seat with horror.

_Syndrome._

What had come up was a blurry image of a figure in a cape, Omnidroid destructively placed in the background as the Villain cockily confronted the crowd of civilians. Regardless, it was clearly him, pose arrogant even in the air, and the Super shivered in memory as a vocal echo of his words came back to her.

Further searching revealed a college image of the man, and Vi almost lost her seat in surprise as she was faced with a freckle-faced geek, complete with horn-rimmed glasses and petulant scowl. She could almost see a pocket protector peeking out from the photograph's black and white edge. But there was nothing she could use there. The date of death was stated as being the same day of the Omnidroid's attack; simple facts presented in clinical white font upon the screen, no more than a series of heartless numbers.

Still, there had to be something else there. Otherwise Rick wouldn't have said anything.

Out of the corner of her eye something glimmered. A line of text fighting for attention with ever-increasing importance. The dark haired ingénue stared at it for several seconds before realization finally struck. _Disposal._ She had already figured that one out—it was the word she'd been instructed to find, in the form of the trash folder. But what if there was more to it than just that? The word 'Trash' still remained in an echo folder below it, as though he'd accidentally copied the location twice, and hadn't noticed it before it had taken a permanent position on the screen.

But she had never known Rick Dicker to do anything without a purpose.

"_Secondary, stand by."_

Double clicking on the image, her mind was immediately overloaded with information. One by one, black and white photographs appeared within her startled gaze. Of Supers or Civilians that had mysteriously gone missing, with no warning or under the pretense of doing something else. A quick scan showed various last known locations as being family reunions, business trips, and work-related emergencies.

And wedding anniversaries and honeymoons.

Last on the stack, newly updated photographs of her parents in their new "team" uniforms, and a short file on Mirage, her past sketchy at best, came to the foreground.

Her _parents_. Her parents were gone, too, just like Trisha. And Mirage, as well. Kidnapped by an unknown other.

The shock nearly froze Violet in the detective's chair, until the loud clang of a nearby trashcan threw her back into reality, enough to read the details written therein. Their disappearances were dated as having occurred recently, no more than a few days previously. The Parrs had readied themselves for their upcoming trip as was normal, even going so far as to drop off their youngest child with their longtime friends and partners against crime. Only to never get on their plane, vanishing within the airport's chaotic confines. Mirage had been lost in the middle of a bar-fight while on her cruise, caught up in the mess of sailors with a little too much temper and not enough self-control. Her husband, Tony, was mentioned as being in the hospital with a concussion, not knowing Meredith Murphy-Mancuso's current whereabouts.

It was shocking, and more than a little puzzling; there was definitely more going on than met the eye. Never with any sign of forced entry, other than what had occurred with Trisha and their apartment, in most cases the Supers concerned had disappeared within a crowd, never to reappear. And at every scene a kind of vehicle exhaust had been discovered, liberally littering the surrounding area with a sticky oil-like substance created entirely of plant matter. Specifically plants from the tropics, found on volcanic islands. But with a after-scent of rocket fuel.

Volcanic islands? Where had she read that recently? What was the NSA emissary trying to tell her? What did he want her to do?

The last time she'd even been near volcanoes of any sort she'd just turned fourteen, six years ago. It had been when she had first reluctantly participated in Superhero work, back before Mirage had switched sides. But Mirage wasn't here now to make suggestions, and if the missing persons report she'd read was any indication, Vi wouldn't be talking to her any time soon.

And the only other person familiar with Volcanic sites was deceased, the last time she'd checked.

Fingers halted on the archaic keyboard, coming to a slow stop as inspiration hit with the force of one of her father's defensive blocks. _Checked._ _There was that word again._ The Parrs had always _assumed_ that he was dead. The NSA had certainly never confirmed or denied it, but it had been implied. Never spoken, never stated, only ever implied.

VyletHaze had always assumed that they had taken care of the situation. Although 'Taken Care Of' could mean any number of things, she'd long-since learned regarding the National Supers Association. Sometimes it included cleaning up destruction or changing names, while other times it meant funeral arrangements, or the disappearance of information from public hands.

Or even the disappearance of people.

There was only one way she could possibly find out. Flipping back to the original "Disposal" unit, the other frames immediately disappeared as though having never existed. In their place again came the echo of a dead man. But still this brought no leads.

Heavy footfalls reached her ears before Bullock's irate voice did, and with panicked eyes the Super stared helplessly at the screen.

This was her last chance. The only time she would be able to search the NSA without being traced, if the block on all of her accounts were any indication.

Remembering the electrical field she had created as she'd broke into the computer in the first place, Vi decided to give the situation one last, panic-filled go. If it didn't work, she didn't know what to do. But there was no harm in trying, especially with precious seconds remaining for her to take action.

Placing delicate fingers on the computer's tower, the dark-haired woman gentle sent a sliver of energy pulsing from her into the mainframe. And then pushed harder, like a surgeon cutting with a laser, until the screen rippled and jumped like a jackrabbit in an earthquake.

The screen abruptly settled, and with it went the color.

She was still staring at the same screen, an image of young Syndrome glaring up at her with dispassionate eyes, but where there had only been the end of the page came instead an external link, leading to who-knows-what. Feeling the Detective make his way back, Violet clicked on the link.

Only to suck in a breath, as though she'd been socked in the gut.

Prisoner _3-9-5-Dash-B_ scowled through her soul, nearly searing her bones off of her with the ferocity of his anger. And next to the image of an older, colder Syndrome was the basic information she needed regarding security measures for building number BB-115, including energy usage based on electromagnetic fields. And more importantly, she now had a definite location.

BB-115 was in Municiberg. _He_ was alive and in _her_ town to boot, scheduled to be removed from that prison location, and she hadn't been told.

Rick Dicker knew where the missing Supers were. Syndrome was alive. And he either believed the Villain to be the one at fault, or wanted to release the man in order to rescue them, his own hands tied. (And hers as well, given that she had seemingly been blocked from NSA quarters and information channels.)

But the former didn't make sense, if he had been imprisoned since his defeat, as was written. And the latter didn't bear thinking about.

"Hey. What are you doing ov'a here?"

Too late.

Sending one last shot of energy into the machine, the screen flickered and died with a resulting moan. Hoping that it would be okay, and that she hadn't fried to the ancient box with her overload, Miss Parr deftly moved away, nervously pushing up her unneeded glasses.

"I'm s-so sorry, Detective Bullock! I was just cleaning up, and then I s-spill…um, I s-spilled--."

"Yeah, I can see what ya spilled. Don't let the wood get tarnished, will ya? And what abou-Ah, man! What happen'd to my computer!" irritation turned to horrified shock as the man found the remains of his perished console. And Violet tried not to wince as a wave of true guilt went through her.

"I…I spilled your coffee, Detective Bullock. On the tower, too. I t-tried to clean it up, but…um…"

Collapsing into his chair, the scruffy man just stared. Then in a rare display of quiet frustration, his head of thinning hair fell to the sticky desktop, remaining stationary, barely even raising a hand to motion her away in his shock.

"I'm really sorr--."

"Go home, Parr."

"But--."

"Just…take the night off. Before you break somethin' else."

"But I--."

"JUST GO!"

The anger was back, and with it Violet's ticket for a quick exit. As the other patrons of the Police Department raised their heads in surprise and alarm, she fetched her belongings from her desk and disappeared out the front door.

It wasn't until then, though, that the ramification of what she had to do finally hit home. Standing in the now-bleak rain, sun going down and clothing drenched and sticky against her skin, Violet had no choice but to face the facts.

If she wanted to save her family, much less her roommate and the woman she'd come to respect, she would have to find someone that could not only lead her to Nomanisan island, but would be able to bypass security codes and traps. Vi would have to travel, undetected, to said 'Island,' where, without support from the NSA, she would essentially be going it alone.

Essentially, there was only one man who could possibly help her. But he was under government lock and key. And the last time she'd checked, he was dead, a literal 'dead man walking.' A _Super-Killer_. A man who had nearly committed genocide six years prior, not even hesitating to kill the innocent wife and children of his hated nemesis.

Still, the Villain was her only chance to save her family. If she wanted to have his help, VyletHaze would have to break him out of the security measures her Superiors had locked him into. Essentially turning herself into a wanted criminal.

_If_, that is, she wasn't identified.

It was a crazy gambit, but she had nothing else to go off of.

"Fantastic," she muttered sarcastically.

Then proceeded to run for the bus, all the while planning for the night ahead of her.

~/~/~

AN:

Similar to what occurred with chapter one, chapter two had to be rewritten, the salvageable pieces welded together in a Frankenstein's monster-like fashion. I'm not sure if I'm in love with the end result, but it's a definite improvement over its previous incarnation, cutting out superfluous information with one razor-sharp cut. I hope it meets most expectations, at the very least. Although, as a warning, it is unbetaed, since my roommie hasn't had the opportunity to get to it. Edits will be made later, when our schedules coincide. I'll be sure to note everyone of the changes when they occur.

-"Zero Sum Game," is a reference to the website TVtropes. http :// tvtropes . org / pmwiki / pmwiki . php / Main / ZeroSumGame

-Meredith Murphy is a reference to Susan Murphy, of _Monsters Versus Aliens. _Because when I first saw the designs for Ginormica, I was immediately struck by her similarity to Mirage. XD

-Violet being a Political Science major was brought out by a discussion with a friend of mine.

-The further idea of her working toward a future in the legal defense of Supers was supported by research regarding _Marvel_'s renowned law firm, "Goodman, Lieber, Kurtzberg & Holliway/Book."

-The concept of Vi working at the police department was inspired by Barbara Gordon (Batgirl), and her ability to do research at her father's place of work without suspicion.

-The insertion of _Batman_ characters Bullock and Nora Fries (pronounced "Freeze") was for kicks and giggles. Each belong to _DC Comics_ respectively.

~/~/~

Lastly… Thornwitch, you're a sweetheart. :D Thank you for all your kind words, and yes, I am intending to continue the story. I'm glad you were spot-on, plot-wise, and I really am delighted with your reviews and compliments. Now you just need to get an account so that I can actually send you responses one-on-one. –laughs-


	4. Running With Scissors

**Icarus**

By Shahrezad1

Summary: _There was only one man who could possibly help her. And the last time she'd checked, he was dead._

Disclaimer: The ownership of Incredibles…it does not exist.

Chapter 3: _**Running With Scissors **__aka Doing Stupid Things_

"_When they finally come to destroy the earth,_

_they'll have to go through you first._

_I bet they won't be expecting that._

_When they finally come to destroy the earth,_

_They'll have to deal with you first._

_And now my money says,_

_they won't know about,_

_the thousand-Fahrenheit, _

_hot metal lights behind your eyes!_

_Invincible!_

_Oh, oh, oh!_

_You're Invincible!"_

_-Invincible, OK Go_

~/~/~

"_It's my lucky lipstick. I've only got one left, so I've got to keep it on me at all times. You'll understand once you start actually _living_, Haze."_

_A memory of words distinctly muttered fluttered from ear to ear, like a whisper on the wind; bringing back a conversation from a week previous, with Trisha talking long after Vi should have been asleep, as she was now. _

_Violet had been slowly preparing for bed, brush in hand and tatty robe enveloping her form, even as Trisha was preparing for a night on the town. Her words had seemed trite then, a smattering of words that only reinforced Vi's view of her as being a habitual flirt. _

_"What are you talking about? I _am_ living."_

_"School and work don't count, Vi. You won't be a Super forever, and at the end of the day, after all the bad guys have been locked away and the camera flashes stop, who comes home? The Civilian, that's who. I don't know about you, but I don't plan on being a lonely old spinster like TsuNami. And you can try and pull that 'helping people' crap on others, but I know deep down that you don't want your life to become an endless courtroom either. There's still a girl under the Supersuit. You need a _man_, Haze. You need to start _living_. Start taking some risks already! Because you never know when what you care about will be taken from you."_

_"Might as well live with the time you've got."_

_"Whatever you say, Trisha."_

~/~/~

Somehow, Violet didn't think this was what Trisha had meant when she'd said she should live a little.

After all, she was once again stuck on top of a building, looking down.

The rain was still pouring when Violet finally stepped out into the underbelly of Municiberg., and even with her hair slicked back and wearing a skin-tight suit, she was immediately drenched and shivering. The street had been empty and black as pitch, hot air rising from the trapped recesses beneath the crumbling city streets, only to be dampened by the outpouring of rain.

From there she had scouted out the area, finding only vagrants and bums to challenge her gaze. Then, from the shadows, she had just stood and thought things out.

It hadn't taken a genius to realize that she was missing a few things. A game plan, for one, and a clue for another. She had no idea if the man even _existed_ still, and when it came to the location she was running blind. Essentially, Violet had three outcomes to the evening planned out.

The first revolved around not getting caught, somehow finding the 'deceased' Villain, and making it out of the situation alive. The second was more likely in that she would make her way through the NSA's quarters, only to realize that her actions were futile, Syndrome long-gone to the 'other side.' The last result for the evening's end was unthinkable. But something she had to face, should she fail--getting caught and subsequently suspended, demoted, or imprisoned.

Shaking her head ruefully, the Super examined the _National Super Association's _Municiberg location carefully. Built to resemble a common office building, it was made of rusty brick, old with age, and built in the rougher side of town. Alleyways surrounded the clay mausoleum, full of garbage and stray animals. The interior itself, however, was immaculate, and the reinforced walls blocked the smell out.

The location itself was to the benefit of all NSA-associated Supers, however, and all together had a reinforced steel frame, foundation, bullet-proof glass, and metal walls. A simple drill-through would only result in plenty of noise and possible discovery, making her father's usual mode of operandi futile in the extreme.

So she would have to use stealth instead.

In addition to silence, she would have to maintain strict self-control when it came to shielding and invisibility--a single false move could easily reveal her position, even with something as simple as raindrops sliding off an automatic bubble or a human-shaped silhouette appearing within the downpour.

Unfortunately, the college student really was better off going without the shields at this point. At least until she got inside, anyway. Then once _Haze_ was within, the hero would dry off and then set her shields to a frequency matching most infrared cameras, effectively masking her form. Until then, however, the Super would have to suck it up and do what she came to do.

Thankfully, if Violet's instincts were correct, the off-tempo patter of rain should help in masking her tread, though.

Having formed the kinetic energy in her hands into a bowl-shape, rather than a full sphere, _VyletHaze_ suctioned her way across the slick brick to an available window. It was a trick she'd seen her mentor use once, only with water droplets spread across the skin of her palms, like microscope octopus suckers. Only the process of emulating it was more difficult than it seemed, taking two experiences of sliding down the steep incline before _Vylet_ made the decision to be more thoughtful in her wall-crawling endeavors.

The effort was well-worth it, though. Soon the dark-haired intruder was picking out both the manual and the electrical locks guarding the window, the former a trick taught by her mother and the latter something she'd picked up through experimental short-circuiting in her high school's computer labs. Then without word or pause, her slim form folded inside like so many layers of origami.

Violet was in, soaked but safe. An automatic electrical shield rose to the foreground with a hummingbird-like buzz, almost simultaneous with her effort towards invisibility. The halo of water dotting her suit and skin as dealt with easily, utilizing one of Edna's special features in her new Haze suit. It vaporized moisture immediately, an added design she'd specifically requested when she was fourteen.

Then, recalling from memory the overall building plan, Haze mentally went through her itinerary step-by-step.

The NSA's Municiberg headquarters were held in a four-story structure, complete with a single elevator, which led straight down before stopping on the main level. A set of stairs existed for emergency purpose, but they were rarely used otherwise, she knew from experience. Rough due to being mostly cement, they were cold as ice in the winter and slippery when it rained, due to multiple dripping leaks. On nights like this, the stationed guards typically only made a cursory check of the dangerous exit, but no more than that.

Additionally, Violet acknowledged as she slowly, invisibly, made her way down, the building tended to have a ghostly echo as a clear deterrent, something she took into account as an added bonus.

So, while there was a slight risk of being caught on camera, she chose the latter path. From there she would stop on each landing, scanning through the walls of each level with a little gadget Edna had once created for her, traditionally utilized when navigating the sewers. In this case she had transferred its purpose to that of searching out heat signals or any recognizable passageways.

Nothing came up, however, as VyletHaze went, down the slippery old steps and to the main level. A visual scan revealed several hidden compartments, mostly comprised of safes, but no hidden entrance.

_Which made no sense_, Violet huffed in exasperation. _The computer had given her exact coordinates regarding the prisoner's location, so there _had_ to be_--.

A puff of warm air cut her mental rant short. And, closing her eyes, the superhero knew she'd found it. By feel alone, the invisible woman followed the current, hands outstretched, until they met concrete once more. But not full concrete--a crack ran down the wall following the seam, to an almost exact point. Running a flattened disk of electricity through the break, like a knife through butter, suitably triggered the cues needed, and without pause the wall seemed to shift and disappear entirely, revealing a hidden elevator within.

Studying the door intently, the Super searched for a way in but couldn't find anything but the object itself. The panel was a solid plane of glass, uninterrupted by even a maker's seal, and in the area where one would normally find an up or down arrow, only a finger print scanner existed.

_Wonderful _she thought as she studied the pad.

A distant idea formed in the back of her mind, reminding the girl of something she had seen in a movie. It was a long shot, true, but she'd gotten this far only mostly on luck anyway. Then gently pressing her finger on the pad, Vi shielded the single digit in a flat cover of electronic skin, hoping that the computer would read the finger print traces left from the last person to use it.

Time passed in painstaking milliseconds, the hero holding her breath as it seemed to take forever. Finally the door opened as the screen flashed a single word:

_CLEAR. _

But before she could breathe a sigh of relief more words appeared underneath:

_UNSCHEDUALED ACCESS_, the electronic panel seemed to silently scream, and without thinking she sent another disk of electricity into the machine to cut off any signal that might alert the guards.

Relaxing slightly, she took a deep breath before stepping into the elevator and pressed the down arrow. After what felt like ages later, the door opened pleasantly once more. Ending the mounting claustrophobia and revealing a hidden interior one would have never expected, looking at the building's exterior.

Beneath the NSA's headquarter existed a controlled laboratory, bustling with robotic aides and sentries, hard at work creating bits and pieces that sparked and hissed from the heat and glare of flame. Against the wall, like a line of trophies, existed several tables surrounded by what she assumed was bullet-proof glass, as new products were tested and examined.

The first displayed a long tray of stretched material, like synthetic skin, pockmarked with wires and run with delicate creases. Each inch was being poked and prodded, much like her doctor had when she was a child, until, like a toggle being flipped, the entire length of washed-out material rose in a great wave of goosebumps, filling the four foot-by-four foot space. The Super could only stare in invisible awe.

The next table bore familiar-looking designs for flare-based flight, hovering slightly a foot above the table while being attached to a pair of plain looking sneakers. And the next after that held an Electro-Magnetic Pulse Inducer. The only reason why she'd been able to identify it being that the Police had hoisted the weighty thing out in order to deal with _ElecToad_, effectively cutting off all surrounding electricity, and thereby his access to power.

The most eerie of all the inventions, however, lay in several false appendages hanging from clawed hooks against the wall, like coats being hung up on your first day of kindergarten. They dangled lifelessly from the ceiling, yet bore complete digits and hair, looking like the amputated remains of a Terminator-rerun. And shelved above them, cybernetic eyes rolled indiscriminately, like Magic-8 balls, coming in assorted colors.

Amid all the Frankenstein-like glory of the laboratory, however, the one object that struck her dumb was no larger than a nickel, at most. Placed carefully within a molded placement, the item glittered innocently as its actions were anything but.

A purple electrical field was being expelled from the tiny ring, where upon the computers were instructing it to take on various forms and shapes. Such as the bowl-shape she had used just previously, then on to a sphere, a pyramid, and a cone. When the Intern finally tore away her gaze, it was with anger.

Someone had found a way to duplicate her powers.

She didn't have time for that now, though.

Moving invisibly through the room, Violet was grateful that instead of a typical door, the entryway was protected by an electrical field. All it took was a little determined thinking and she was through, her shield placed at a hummingbird's frequency to match the sun-hot fence that barred her way. It didn't even skip in its crackling beat, nor was she seen on the glowing cameras tucked in each corner of the room.

Had Trisha been present, she would have cracked a smile or a joke of some sort. As it was, Vi just focused on not dying in the next leg of her journey.

The area was clear, although through a glass enclosure the dark haired woman could see several guards posted in neutral blues, their identities shielded by featureless reflective masks. And as one slim, leather-encased foot was lowered to the ground, a series of spark seemed to be set off. Releasing a sharp beep within the guards' confines.

Immediately the two men straightened, and _Vylet's_ boot shot back up. When nothing else occurred, the men seemed to relax. And with forced casualness, the girl allowed herself to breath deeply and just…

_Let go._

Of her fear, and especially on gravity.

Soon she was levitating within the invisible barrier she had erected, floating just enough above the ground to bypass the sensors running along the ground. Then slowly, unseen, the undercover Super continued.

The building's hidden floor was mostly unoccupied, a long line of doors stretching out like Arkham Asylum before her navy eyes. Most of the cells were empty of occupants, but a few held a smattering of men and women.

_Lightning Claud_ sat innocently reading a book within a room, complete with rubber padding and a foot-thick plastic door, clearly made to be bullet and electricity-proof.

_Baroness Evil_ was surrounded by extreme light, her cell painted a cheery buttercup yellow to match the daisy border pasted round its rim. Keeping both her shadow puppets and her own delve into depression in check.

Last was _Viperess'_ den. Her room was several degrees colder than what was comfortable, holding the serpent queen in a lethargic thrall. However, despite the protective measures surrounding the Villainess' lair, Violet couldn't help but shiver as she met unseeing slitted eyes, a past wound burning sharply on her upper arm in memory of the not-so-distant past.

What followed was a series of villains she had only ever heard about, men and women of her parents' generation that had mysteriously disappeared at the same time the Supers had. But none of them were Syndrome. It wasn't until the last, most heavily protected cell, that the hero discovered her target. A realization that came on slowly, as she had had to take a second look within, moving on automatic.

It had definitely been instinct that had stopped the Heroine cold, for nothing else had clued her in on his location. It had merely been a sense of certainty, washing over her in a skin-crawling wave of familiarity, like Déjà vu mixed with the fingers of death running across one's face.

And then Violet had stopped.

The room was unremarkable from the outside of its laser field. Unlike many of the other chambers, it had no door, and the interior was enveloped in darkness.

An almost expectant kind of black., As though the air itself had been lying patiently in wait, for something. A lion caged. Waiting for her.

Before further pondering could deter her, she moved in. Hand running across the pin pad just outside, effectively altering it to recognize her electrical patterns without worry. And then her shielded form was gliding through like a ghost in the machine, force field as close to her body as possible.

The room was as dark as she'd thought it would be, reminiscent of tar and twice as thick. But her eyes soon adjusted to see that it was more than just an empty room. Scattered objects littered the room like fallen toy soldiers, old and beaten with use rather than love. The angles on desk and cot were sharply slanted, and tossed throughout the room she could barely make out the pale color of paper. Sketches, millions of sketches piled on shelves and desktop and taped to the walls like wanted posters at the Police Station.

And in the midst of it all was a man.

The girl almost didn't see him at first, as subdued and still as his form was. It was actually the sound of a pencil on paper that gave it away, a slight scratching in the deathly, almost expectant silence. And then her eyes couldn't tear themselves away as she was confronted with the terror of her childhood dreams, the Devil of her nightmares.

The enclosing room suddenly seemed smaller all of a sudden, pressing in as the mission was lost in the face of her own fear. Pressing down on the young woman until all she wanted was to cry like a child.

_Like a child…_

The awareness of self snapped back fast enough to cause whiplash, the realization of the when and now slapping her in the face and effectively maturing her in seconds.

She wasn't fourteen anymore. She was a Super, on a mission, and she wasn't going to chicken out when she was so close to her goal. And he, the Villain whose almost ridiculous presence had nearly destroyed her family, was a prisoner of the state.

Metaphorically girding her loins, Violet took a step further into the room, passing an assessing glance over her nemesis and current target.

He was shorter than she remembered, although she attributed that to the fact that he was sitting down, in addition to the more subdued hair.

In fact, it was almost the dead opposite of what she remembered it being. Parted to the side haphazardly, as though it was regularly slicked back but had shifted as he had become caught up in work, his once flame-shaped locks had become almost normal in their tameness. Thereby cutting his villainous presence in half.

His shirt was a simple military-issued black, long-sleeved tee. His pants were camo-green, although the shadows kept her from checking to see if they were tucked into combat boots. No scars marred a face lightly dusted with freckles, and thick brows were furrowed over a distinctly wedge-like nose, half his face still in shadow.

Violet was surprised to realize that if she took away the Titanic-sized chin and darkened the hair a tad, he wouldn't look far distant from an adult version her brother Jackson. An eery thought if there was one.

But it brought home another truth. Syndrome, when all was said and done, was nothing but a man.

A man who had murdered a majority of the United States-based Supers single handedly, and had nearly destroyed her family, but a man nonetheless. One that was currently sketching furiously what appeared to be a rocket ship, destined for spaceflight.

Abruptly the shadow figure moved, arm rising to press the play button on what she realized was a nearby boom box. It immediately masked all sound within the room with its muffled melody, and Violet found herself tensing automatically as he wet his lips, then continued drawing.

"As much as I believe in emulation as a form of a compliment, I regret to inform you that I won't be sharing any of my schematics with you, Villain 'Equality' or no. _Sorry_."

His words were dry and droll, every ounce of the man sarcastic in a subtly forthright way, lips thin and wide twisting into an almost unseen sneer as he worked steadily on his design, not even looking up once.

Not that he would have been able to see anything of her anyway, her form cloaked invisibly from view as it was. Still Violet had to mask the surprise she felt in that he'd even noticed her presence.

And then there were his words: _'Emulation as a form of compliment'? 'Villain or no'?_

Mind moving faster than her brother's feet, abrupt understanding clicked into place.

He thought she was a wannabe; an up and coming criminal out to steal his plans, assuming he was helpless within the confines of his metal cage. Which meant that the Villain community was aware of his existence, even if the Super one wasn't.

Feeling once again alternately betrayed and irritated, Violet shoved aside the feelings in favor of the moment at hand. She had a job to do. Then, low and husky, her voice penetrated the darkness and subsequent music, just as she had intended.

"Who said anything about me being a Villain?"

His one visible eye snapped to attention, front and center, and brilliantly ice blue. It blinked as though removing a shutter from sight, and she remembered belatedly that she was still unseen, regardless of his detection skills.

The expression didn't change. Bored, neutrally closed, with none of the giddy, almost insane enthusiasm she remembered from her youth. No laughing, no triumphant arrogance.

Only a single raised brow, where the edge of his mask would have covered.

"Then you are a very foolish person indeed," he scoffed, bitter smile twisting his darkened face.

"What I am or what I'm not doesn't matter. It's what I'm willing to offer that you should focus on," she deliberately kept her voice pitched smooth and dark. More of a mumbled rumble of words than a tangled line of ants. It was an unconscious echo of what she had seen Mirage do on numerous occasions, when dealing with coworkers and even her partner, the man who was now her husband. Once, when Vi had first turned eighteen she had asked the older woman how she did it. What had been the trick, the girl had queried, and why did people, men especially, react differently to it than other speech?

'_It's the mystery of it, dear girl,'_ the pale-haired vixen had answered simply, _'give them just as much as they need to know--no more than that. And if they want to know the rest, make them come to _you_ for it."_

It was this precise memory that she played on now, the dark adding an elegant aspect to her hidden figure as she watched an incredulous, and slightly surprised, expression cross over his face, the realization of her gender and possible intent altering the criminal's perspective.

He stared through her warily, finally setting the sketchbook aside as he used the desk next to him as a leverage in order to stand. It wasn't until he stood, straight and tall a full head higher than her at a little over six feet, that the worry returned.

_Just what had she gotten herself into this time?_

Sudden anxiety battling with the stubbornness of a woman with no other options open to her, and desperation the size of Everest, she almost missed it. The flash of metal in pitch darkness, near Syndrome's feet.

No, not near his feet. They _were_ his feet.

Her personal nightmare had no legs, from his knees downward. Where thick muscle should have existed, there remained only thin poles ending in a solid base. Peg-legs for a king.

The price he'd paid for mistakes in the past.

It was this revelation that was her downfall, and in that single second of distraction she found herself being crushed against the cell wall, his form crashing into hers. To any cameras it would have seemed as though he had merely lost his balance, and was leaning against the wall for support. But pressed inches from his skin, gasp torn from her lips, Violet knew better.

"And why should I even listen to what you've got to say?" he hissed directly, breath hot and angry in her face as he literally scowled through her. The dark-haired Super realized with horror that the side of his face that had always been hidden in shadow was glowing. A hot, angry red shining out from where his left eye should have been.

He'd apparently lost it in the explosion or later, replacing it with a prosthetic. A prosthetic with specialty heat sensors, she realized upon remembering the rotating eyeballs in the lab. Ones that apparently could not only see through her invisibility, but also the frequency of her skin-tight shield.

_Great. __Just great._

Realizing she'd just lost one of her best cards, Violet reshuffled the deck and came up with a possible way out. If only she played it right.

"…if it involved freedom, in addition to revenge against _Mr. Incredible_, I would say it was worth five minutes of your time. Unless you've got a pressing engagement to look forward to."

The fury bleached from his skin, becoming a stone edifice as ferocity was tucked away for another day. The robotic eye kept moving, and although it glowed eerily, now that her eyes had adjusted she could see that in regular lighting it would appear almost normal.

He was still nothing but a man.

She could deal with a man. And the Super still had the upper hand. So when he frowned speculatively, scheming curiosity piqued on features sharpened with age and time, she knew she had him.

"I'm listening."

"I'm trying to get to Nomanisan."

An immediate laugh barked out, harsh and rusty, as though it hadn't been used in a long, long time, "I take back what I said, then. If you want to take a short trip off a long pier, be my guest."

She moved stubbornly onward, ignoring their close proximity in favor of a business-like visage. Imagining that they were across the room from one another, she defending her case with all the stubbornness of the lawyer she hoped to someday be, seemed to help some. But not enough to dispel the uncomfortable blush coloring her cheeks just beneath the mask.

His intent was pure evil, and he was twice her age at the very least (she guessed), but it had still been quite some time since she had been close to any man younger than her father that wasn't in high school or below, much less one that was an equal to her.

Ignoring this, Violet continued, "another Villain seems to have taken it as his--or her--new base."

The looming form above her own froze. Then what came was a puzzled expression of surprise, effectively youthening his features by nearly a decade. Causing him to look, if only for a second, like the enthusiastic criminal she remembered.

"What are you talking about? I thought the NSA…"

"Decommissioned it and turned it into a wildlife preserve? Yes. But lately people have been disappearing, and it all points to the island. It's a proverbial Bermuda Triangle right now."

Bushy brows furrowed over a small hawkish nose, lightning-blue eyes focused not on her, but _through_ her in thought. As though, to his mind's eye, she really was invisible. And the line of red hair running in a short goatee along his chin seemed to puff up like an affronted parrot.

"…_who is it?_"

"That's what I'd like to know."

Fierce blue eyes ones again zoned back in on her features, annoyed scowl returning once more.

"All information regarding the island has been deleted," _other than what Dicker had managed to smuggle into her hands,_ "and the Supers are systematically disappearing. Including the Agent Meredith Murphy, otherwise known as _Mirage_."

Speculative silence met her words as he just stared, as though he was piecing together her dark ponytail and purple suit, a glimmer of recognition floating on the edge of his mental horizon.

And then came the words, "Let me get this straight...you, _'Super-Ninja-Something-Or-Other-Girl'_, are offering to break me out, _'Syndrome-The-Super-Killer,'_ just so I can _tour guide_ you around the island? For some 'Save the Cheerleader, Save the World,' hero crap? I ain't buying it--I'll be straight with you on that. And where does the revenge come in at, anyway? Before or after I get _sucked_ into some ploy to take someone else's fall. If you'll pardon the _pun_."

Violet winced despite herself. Again wishing that she had somehow known beforehand what she was getting into, VyletHaze took a slow, calming breath. And merely spoke the truth, "no one is asking you to take the fall. All I need is a heads up on the setup of the island and possible codes in order to get through the traps. From there…you're free."

Although she couldn't help but wince as she said it. Knowing instinctively that somehow that the decision would come back to bite her in the rear.

"You honestly want me to believe that there's no big guy pulling the strings?" he scoffed.

"Look, as I already told you. No one's asking you to stick out your _fat neck!_" was her repeated retort, albeit somewhat harsher. And as he raised a pointed brow, one real eye pointedly turning to look at the video camera above them, Vi sternly brought her temper back, "…but you're right about one thing--the idea wasn't mine."

Silence iced the air. When the former criminal finally spoke it was with thinly veiled impatience, "all right then. Whose was it? Which shmoe am I going to have to pay back, double-time?"

"Are you familiar with a man named Rick Dicker?"

The response she received was startling. Eyes widening, Syndrome's head seemed to jerk back in surprise. Even his hands lifted off the wall they were planted on, to either side of her head. Then something…positive seemed to flicker in the corner of his one real eye, a hint of a smile tugging at formerly angry lips.

"Good ol' boy scout. I thought he'd forgotten about me."

_What? What was _that_ supposed to mean? _

"Don't think waving his name in front of my face is going to get me to help you, though," was the sneered follow-up, "for all I know you're out to get me and my pocket change, too."

_WHAT?!_

"When you're under lock and key?! Th-that'd be…?!"

"Against the rules?" his gravely voice pitched mockingly, "'Bad Form'?"

"Do you really think I would be unintelligent enough to murder a man in cold blood while he's in the clutches of the NSA?"

Syndrome shrugged. And as he did, it was the rolling of boulders down a mountainside, the breadth of his shoulders towering high above her head.

"I think lots of things. And usually I'm right. Why wouldn't you be here to kill me, anyway? I make for an easy target. You wouldn't even have to worry about me trying to run," he stomped a single metal peg, "It wouldn't be the first time someone's tried to 'off' me in six years, either. Do you really think the Supers are the only ones I've pissed off?" the Scientist smiled then. A cold intelligent smile even as he remained pressed close, his hands drawing closer to either side of her head.

"Besides, girly, you can trick the cameras--you've already figured that out, haven't you? Otherwise you wouldn't have tried something so stupid."

"How--!"

His broad features were once more devoid of life, or even a spark of his mocking humor, "I didn't just lose my eye and legs, you know. I had to replace my eardrums, or the _bleeding_ wouldn't stop. Not that I'm complaining," he remarked mockingly, "the improvements are better than the old ones anyhow. And they tend to help in hearing alarms go off. But then again, the floor sensors only sounded for less than a second, didn't they? Not long enough to bother the guards."

Cold inquisitive eyes latched on hers curiously, as his hands finally planted themselves to either one of her cheeks. Then he examined her like a frog ready to be dissected; a cold lifeless thing meant only to be torn apart. Within that gaze the Super felt alternately frozen in place and burned, his irises light as a surgeon's laser in the pulsing darkness.

"Just who are you? And how do you know about Mr. Incredible? No one knows about him--I made a point of _that_."

Her shield sprung his arms off and away in a circular bubble round her head, so that he had no choice but to lean once more against the wall or fall to his knees. Then only when his now-mocking gaze was back on her, did she fold her arms defiantly over her chest, "I have my sources."

"I bet."

"What does it matter who I am, anyway?" she continued quietly, darkly, "I'm offering you what you've been dreaming about for years. Freedom and revenge. Isn't that answer enough?"

"Sweetheart, if you were offering your body too, I'd trust you more."

Automatically Violet blanched. Which was exactly the test he was aiming for, she realized as he slowly smiled. A satisfied, Cheshire grin, full of knowing and sudden epiphany.

"Ah, hah. Reacted to _that_, did you. There's one thing you failed to realize in your plan, and it's that Villains don't go into the business for the women, or power, or money," A wince and a shrug, then, "Okay, maybe for money. But it's really all about the publicity. _The Style_. True, you stated upfront that you are not a Villain. But neither did you state that you were a Super. But, if as insinuated, you were a true mercenary, unchained by either good or evil, you would have offered your body. Because then you would have been 'In Character'."

Confused, the girl outright stared. But he, warming up to a subject he had clearly though over, continued his explanation.

"Nothing would have come of it, nor would you have trusted me near you. But then I'd have known _without a doubt_, even if I had no idea_ who_ you were, that I couldn't trust you," pausing to let his convoluted thought process sink in, the man smiled quietly, "And I would have been able to trust _that_, because I know how to deal with those I don't trust. Leveling out the playing field, because you would have known that I knew the truth. Making us equals."

A mocking scoff, "No, you're far too _wholesome_ for that. And I don't trust 'wholesome.'"

Dropping the humor from his face in another round of hot potato, as she'd come to associate his emotions with, Syndrome's expression became deadpan at best, and bitter at worst. But at least his deadly eyes were no longer on her, granting Vi some small amount of reprieve.

"No, 'wholesome' speaks of heroism. And heroism means _Truth, Justice, and the Elitist-Holier-Than-Thou_ _Super_ way. No thanks, _darlin'_. I think I'd rather rot than take any of Rick's handouts, thanks."

And then he was stumbling back away from her, and despite the lack of grace it seemed an almost dignified move. It was a proud walk back to his desk and sketchpad, and despite her incredulity at his refusal, she couldn't help but admire his forthrightness, just the tiniest bit.

After all, she'd run into two-bit criminals that had squealed for less. Especially in the comparison to what she was offering now. It took a strong man to live up to his own personal ideals, even if such ideals were based on lawlessness and revenge.

Which meant that she would have to take a different tactic.

"Freedom, revenge, _and_ my identity."

"_What?!_" he had to have whiplash from a turn like that, she noted emotionlessly, not allowing her own words to sink in completely, "you…you can't be _serious!_"

Immediately he cut himself off upon remembering that he could still be seen by the video camera stationed on the ceiling of his cell. Darkness couldn't complete cover his movement, and music could only muffle so much noise.

"Not my real identity, of course, but my alias as it is now. And I'll tell you what I'll be getting out of the situation, as well. After all, I'm neither a Villain, nor a Mercenary, as you've so _eloquently_ stated. But it's the least I can do, _to level the playing field._ Maybe then you'll see things my way. Deal?"

Buddy, however, wasn't as impressed as he had been just seconds previous, "Look, you're throwing a joker into the deck, Lady, if you think you can tempt me with an alias."

"And what if I said I was known as _VyletHaze_…?"

"Which means _what_ to me, exactly?"

"…formerly known as _Invisigirl_, daughter of _Mr. Incredible_?"

Mouth agape, Buddy Pine, inventor, scientist, and Villain, stared.

"_You_."

"Yes."

"You're _his _kid?"

Pausing, her arm was suddenly front and center, balancing three different glowing orbs along the surface of her hand in a move she'd seen in a movie a long time ago. Only when all three were synchronized, like pearls on a string, did Vylet smile, "I can trick the cameras, remember? And how do you think I kept myself from touching the floor? Oh, not to mention," here she moved ever so slightly, sweetly forward, blowing one of the bubbles into his face, "there is the little magic trick of being able to get through the force field without being turned into Kentucky Fried Chicken."

From there it was no effort to emulate Mirage's smile; to take on in an instant the charismatic personality _VyletHaze_ was known for, "I'm just what the escape artist ordered. And I came specifically to break you out. Merry Christmas, _Syndrome_."

He wasn't completely satisfied, however, burly, freckled arms crossing over a barrel of a chest, "Not so fast, _Super_. You still promised a story. What's your incentive?"

For a second, just a second in time, she dropped the act, "my parents are missing too, as well as my roommate. And there are many others--I saw the list, and it's getting longer."

"And what about that revenge you were talking about?"

Her mind blanked. And then without warning VyletHaze once again took over.

"What better revenge is there than to see the look on _Mr. Incredible's_ face when you come striding in to save his sorry self, the man he thought he had destroyed? Then, forcing him to watch as you walk away, a free man, after having repented of your sins through your _Heroic_ deeds. And all because of _his daughter_, a daughter who will be turning against both her training and inherent moral code in order to spring you from prison. Is that revenge enough for you?"

She said it sweetly, all innocence portrayed in a single shimmering form within his altered eye. And unbidden, despite all self-control, he couldn't help the wicked grin that curled across his face, Grinch-like in every aspect.

"Fair enough. It looks like you've got yourself a deal, Wannabe."

~/~/~

AN:

Soooo. Instead of being typified as the Invisible Woman, from Fantastic Four, I think I've made her out to be Green Lantern. Unintentional, I assure you, however…interesting in its possibilities. Hmm. *scratches chin absently*

BTW this scene has existed since the very beginning. You have no idea how long I've actually waited to post it. ^__^;; I'm not sure if the chapter came out as smoothly as I would have liked, but it's a fair enough portrayal of what's in my head. Although my roommate, who is also my beta, stated that I was, "very in-tune with the voices in my head," for this chapter. Which can be either a good thing or a bad thing. –laughs-

The corresponding images are posted on both Deviantart and my fanfiction-dot-net bio. Check them out if you have the chance.

And last but no least…!

Please review! It makes me want to write more. XD


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